


Stay.

by paradis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, M/M, Stiles Stilinski & Lydia Martin are BFFs, angsty, but it's got a fluffy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradis/pseuds/paradis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He leaves because the press of Derek’s lips and the sting of his teeth against Stiles’ neck are still burning his skin, and he can’t stop touching them, but then he remembers Derek telling him he’s not pack, he never was, and that he doesn’t belong here.</p><p>He leaves because Lydia asks him too, but he doesn’t go back to Beacon Hills because no one asked him to come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay.

**Author's Note:**

> This is been a WIP for about six months, and then it hit the end of November, and I did some remodeling on it, and then it turned into my contribution to the Christmas fics of the Teen Wolf fandom, without me even realizing it. I actually had something completely different planned to write for a Christmas fic, but I liked this muccccchhhhh better. 
> 
> I'm forever grateful to my beta MirajaneScarlet for editing this fic and coming up with its title.

Lydia leaves because she can and because no one will ever hold her back from making something of herself.

Stiles leaves because Lydia asks him to come with her, because they’re the smartest ones out of all their friends and because Lydia wants someone to be there with her. He leaves because the press of Derek’s lips and the sting of his teeth against Stiles’ neck are still burning his skin, and he can’t stop touching them, but then he remembers Derek telling him he’s not pack, he never was, and that he doesn’t belong here.

He leaves because Lydia asks him too, but he doesn’t go back to Beacon Hills because no one asked him to come back.

==

He never hears from Scott. Or Allison. Or Jackson, or Isaac, or Boyd, or Erica. It’s him and Lydia in Boston, going to school and studying, sharing their tiny apartment, going to parties together, and laughing and living. 

One time Lydia drunkenly kisses Stiles. And Stiles, it’s everything he’d ever hoped for when he was sixteen and innocent and stupid, but now, when they pull away, still just as drunk, he laughs and laughs and laughs, staring up at the ceiling, Lydia curled into his side, laughing just as much. “We’re lonely,” she finally breathes out. “I just want someone to love me again.”

Because Jackson still loves Lydia, and Lydia still loves Jackson – it’s what saved them, after all; but Lydia has never had time for bullshit, and that’s the kind of thing Jackson likes to pull. They’ve always sort of clashed, even when they were together and loving each other. Lydia chose her future over Jackson and Stiles doesn’t blame her. In the end Stiles chooses his future over Scott or Derek or any of the other werewolves he’s met, and by his senior year of college, werewolves and kanimas and undead uncles seem like a distant memory, like a story he probably made up. 

And that’s okay, because it no longer hurts to think of the flat look in Derek’s eyes when he turned him away, or the way Scott shrugged and told him it was okay to go to school across the _country_ , because he wasn’t needed back home. 

By the time they’re graduating college, Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever return to Beacon Hills.

==

Sometimes they talk about it. They talk about how Lydia and Jackson loved and hated each other so much. They talk about how they feel like everyone practically pushed them out the doors. Stiles will, when he’s drunk, talk about how he really thought that maybe Derek loved him, that maybe even if Scott didn’t want him to stay, Derek would want him to stay.

Because Stiles and Derek _got_ each other. Derek never had to talk about the things he didn’t want to, and Stiles always knew the right way to comfort him anyway. Stiles would talk around what was really bothering him, but Derek would always seem to know what was wrong and make it better. They were good together. Stiles had seen a whole future with Derek, and then Derek hadn’t asked him to stay. He hadn’t told him that he _wanted_ Stiles to stay. 

Sometimes they talk about how Derek told Stiles he was human, therefore he wasn’t really part of the pack – he was free to go whenever he wanted. And Stiles will drunkenly say to Lydia, “I really wanted to be a part of something,” and Lydia will stroke his hair and nod and agree with him. 

Derek told Stiles to go. 

So he did. 

\--

They decide to go to graduate school in Boston, too. 

When Stiles graduates, his dad and Lydia’s parents fly across the country to see them walk across the stage. Stiles has gotten to know Lydia’s parents, and while they’re uptight and rich and rather mean to each other, it’s evident they both love and spoil Lydia, and they have a soft spot for Stiles. It still surprises Stiles when they call _him_ to check up on Lydia sometimes. They’re long past expecting her to be perfect, and Lydia tells him it’s all the family therapy they went to the summer before she moved to Boston freshmen year.

Stiles doesn’t say anything but he thinks it’s also the distance, the effect of her living thousands of miles away from them; it makes it easier for them to be good parents. 

He and his dad don’t see eye to eye much anymore. His dad knows that something happened, something Stiles never talks about, to make him stay far away from Beacon Hills. He doesn’t understand why Stiles works summers and spring breaks and winter breaks in Boston, all to avoid coming back to Beacon Hills, and he pressures Stiles to tell him constantly, but Stiles never spills a word. Their relationship is nothing like it was before the werewolves, before Derek, and it’s the one thing that reminds him that all those supernatural things _did_ exist. 

It’s a strained, uncomfortable relationship that involves a lot of begging on the Sheriff’s part for Stiles to _come home,_ and a lot of Stiles telling his dad that he _is_ home, that Boston and his apartment and Lydia are his home, and he’s not going back to Beacon Hills, possibly ever again.

But they push it aside the day of graduation, they hug each other tight and the Sheriff tells Stiles how proud he is of him, how glad he is that he’s made it this far and he plans to go even further. “Your mom would be so proud,” he says, choked up, and Stiles swallows back the lump in his throat and grins at his dad.

“Let’s grab some food, huh? I hear the Martins are taking us out to wine and dine us.” Lydia hears this and jabs him once, roughly, in the side before she wraps her arms around him and they walk out of the college auditorium together, whispering and laughing, their parents following behind them.

When Stiles’ dad leaves, he stands in the airport and shifts his feet. “I know that… I know something happened, Stiles. And I know that a lot has happened to never really make Beacon Hills a desirable place for you to live again, but – it’s still your home. It’s still where you were born and raised and still where Mrs. Binks asks how you are and if you’re going to make her some of those double fudge chocolate chip cookies for her. It’s still that same place. So just… if you want to come home, ever… I’ll be there, okay?” The Sheriff scratches the back of his neck and looks up at Stiles, face frozen in an almost-wince, like he’s expecting Stiles to yell and be angry at him for asking this again.

Stiles shrugs. “Sure,” he says, because he’s tired of fighting about it. And his dad sees the lie for what it is, but he doesn’t say anything, just pulls Stiles in for one last hug, before crossing over to Lydia and hugging her. The Martins hug Stiles, and go to the gate for their plane while Lydia and Stiles wave them goodbye. 

Lydia rests her head on Stiles’ shoulder and sighs. Stiles wraps his arms around her waist and kisses the top of her head, and they walk out of the airport together, arm in arm, happy and content. 

==  
“I can’t do it,” Lydia announces, coming into Stiles’ room and collapsing on his bed, burying her face in his pillow.

Stiles frowns down at his textbook, highlighting the last sentence, before turning to face Lydia. “You can do anything. You’re like Wonder Woman. Or… you’re just amazing,” Stiles shrugs. Lydia offers him a roll of her eyes, but she’s smiling anyways.

“I’m going to fail out of grad school,” she tells him, and Stiles can tell she’s being serious. 

“Let me guess,” Stiles sighs. “You’re worried because your GPA slipped to a 3.98.”

Lydia narrows her eyes at him and purses her lips. “3.99,” she admits, “And I’ll have you know, that is _not_ okay.” 

Stiles waves a hand and blows out another sigh. “Fine. Get your books.” Lydia’s eyes brighten immediately and she runs out of the room, grabbing her books and her laptop before scurrying back in. Stiles transfers his own studying utensils to his bed, curling up on it, and he and Lydia start studying together. 

It’s a thing they started in freshmen year of undergrad, studying together when they couldn’t focus on their own. Lydia always feels guilty about it, thinking she should be able to do her own studying, and Stiles lets her drops hints for a while until he finally just forces her to sit on the bed or the couch next to him, where they’ll study together and occasionally ask each other to quiz them on certain things, or ask their opinion on the right conjugated form of _avoir_ for their French class (they both liked the language, and it’s one thing Lydia doesn’t get bored with, strangely enough). 

They study together until the sun sets and Stiles’ eyes are burning, dry and red. “I need sleep,” he says. Lydia blinks, pulling herself away from her textbook, before slamming it shut and yawning. She crawls off Stiles bed and walks over to his dresser, pulling an old tee out and changing into it. They have no boundaries anymore, Stiles shakes his head. He doesn’t say anything to her, just unzips his jeans and kicks out of them before crawling back into the bed. Lydia climbs in next to him, and Stiles wraps his arms around her, resting a hand on her hip.

There’s silence, just the sound of their breathing for a while, until Lydia says into the dark. “I’m glad you’re my best friend, Stiles.” And it sounds half asleep, slurry like she isn’t even aware of what she’s saying. Stiles clutches her hip tight and kisses the top of her head and falls asleep. 

==

The invitation comes in the mail, addressed to Mr. Stilinski and Ms. Martin in fancy handwriting. When Stiles opens it, the card is embossed and everything. Money suits Allison McCall well, Stiles grimaces, before tossing the card and envelope onto the counter and making his way to his room. A few hours later, Lydia calls him out into the kitchen. She’s holding the invitation, staring at Stiles with an eyebrow arched. “Five year anniversary party,” Lydia says flatly. 

“At least they aren’t doing it yearly,” Stiles replies. 

“The asterisk at the bottom says, _celebrating the survival of five years together._ ” 

Stiles says, “I don’t think they meant marriage,” and Lydia grimaces. 

There’s a pause, the hum of the kitchen light overhead of them somewhat comforting Stiles as he leans against the counter, arms crossed, both of them staring down at the fancy invitation. “We didn’t even go to their wedding,” Lydia says suddenly. 

“I turned down Scott when he asked me to be his best man and we haven’t talked since,” Stiles says. “I remember.” 

“Isaac was his best man,” Lydia says, running fingers across the lettering at the top. “Erica was Allison’s maid of honor. She asked me to be, and I said no.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and there’s silence again. Then Lydia pulls out the RSVP card, and marks it down for two, both chicken for dinner. When she seals it back in the tiny return envelope, she looks up at Stiles, and Stiles arches a brow at her. “Really?”

Lydia shrugs. “It’s just a… if we decide we don’t want to – or we miss the plane,” Lydia says, and then just sighs, and goes to put the envelope in her purse to drop off at the post office. 

Stiles scrubs at his face before he walks into the living room and sinks down onto the couch and stares blankly at the television for a while, thinking about all the things back in Beacon Hills; thinking about what he’ll have to face if he follows through with this. 

==

They do follow through with it. 

Lydia buys them first class plane tickets, and they sit in their large seats and stare at the seats in front of them, until the lady serving drinks offers them one, and Stiles blurts out, “Scotch, on the rocks, make it a double.” Lydia glares at him for a moment before ordering her own glass of Ketel One and lemon. 

“We are not arriving drunk,” she says, like she’s determined, but by the time the plane lands, Stiles is feeling pretty happy, and the way Lydia keeps giggling every time Stiles pulls a face, Lydia is too. 

They stumble off the plane and Mrs. Martin and the Sheriff are waiting for them at the gate, both talking lightly with one another, until they lay eyes on their own respective children. “Oh, son,” the Sheriff says, and shake his head. Stiles offers him a cocky grin, leans in and claps him on the back, before he also leans in and hugs Mrs. Martin. 

“Mom, Sheriff,” Lydia greets, and at the same time, Stiles sticks his tongue out at her, and she bursts into giggles. Stiles laughs, too, and they hang off each other as the Sheriff and Mrs. Martin lead them to the car, because apparently they drove together to pick them up. 

“How much have you had to drink, son?” the Sheriff asks, helping Stiles into the house after Mrs. Martin drops them off. 

“I’m probably not allowed to drive,” Stiles admits. “Maybe for like… twenty-four hours? First class is a really nice place to be on a plane,” he says cheerily. The Sheriff groans. 

“Let’s get you up to bed,” he says, and helps Stiles upstairs, next. 

When Stiles wakes up, it’s too a throbbing in his head and a person standing in the corner of his childhood bedroom. Stiles groans and slams his eyes shut again. “I know you’re awake, Stiles,” Derek says. 

“Fuck you.” There’s a lot of heat behind the words that says Stiles means business, but Derek has always had just as much trouble with not crossing boundary lines as Stiles has, so he doesn’t leave. 

“Stiles,” he says flatly. 

“Seriously, just leave.” Stiles picks his pillow up and pulls it over his face and tries not to scream, because a) it would hurt his head, and b) it’s childish. Like, first grader childish. And Stiles is nothing if not a full blown, mature adult these days. Drunken plane ride notwithstanding. 

“So you’re back,” Derek says.

Stiles pulls the pillow from his face and squints his eyes at Derek incredulously. Derek stares back at him, unblinking. “Yeeeessss,” Stiles finally says slowly. “It would appear that I’m back, and that you seem to think no time has passed. Given that you still think climbing through my bedroom window is acceptable at all hours of the day.”

Derek narrows his eyes, “It’s ten in the morning.”

“I’m hung over; ten in the morning is not an acceptable time to break into my bedroom and try and talk to me, or try to molest me,” Stiles snaps. 

Derek flinches. Stiles thinks about apologizing, but decides he’s not really that sorry; it’s the truth anyway. “Just go away,” he sighs. 

“I didn’t come here to – to – I didn’t come here for that,” Derek says stiffly, arms crossed. “I came here to tell you not to wander into the woods and do stupid things while you’re here.” 

“You know,” Stiles says loudly, “the funny thing about all this time passing and me not being here? It’s that I have learned that I want _nothing_ to do with your wolfy shenanigans, and believe it or not, I have no desire to _wander into the woods,_ for a pack I’m not even part of.” 

Derek’s eyes flash red, and Stiles’ stomach churns, sick from all the alcohol. 

There’s silence for a moment, before Derek nods once and disappears back out the window. Stiles rolls over and screams into his pillow even though he promised himself he wouldn’t, before he falls back asleep. 

This time, he wakes up to Lydia pounding on his bedroom door twice before walking into the room. “You got me drunk,” she pouts. 

“I did not pour that vodka down your throat,” he says. “We were two perfectly willing, consenting adults.” 

“Allison and Scott’s party is today,” she changes the subject. She falls onto Stiles’ bed and Stiles flings an arm out so that they can hold hands.

“You nervous?” he asks quietly, and she snorts and shakes her head, which means she’s definitely nervous. 

“I just came to dress you, because we all know how terrible you’ll look if someone else doesn’t pick your outfit out,” Lydia says, standing up and heading over to his suitcase.

“How can that be possible if you’ve purchased my entire wardrobe for the last five years _and_ packed my suitcase?” Stiles asks incredulously, but Lydia just gives him a look that says she doesn’t put it past him. 

When he’s showered and dressed in the clothes Lydia picked out for him, they head downstairs, where his dad is eating lunch at the kitchen table. “You know,” the Sheriff says, stabbing a fork into a piece of lettuce, “I really love it when my son comes home to visit for the first time in years, and he steps off the plane plastered and sleeps for the first twenty four hours.” 

“It wasn’t my best idea,” Stiles mutters, slinking over to the fridge. 

“It wasn’t an idea at all,” the Sheriff snaps. “It was stupid, Stiles. What the hell?” 

“Maybe I just don’t want to be here,” Stiles retorts. 

“Then _why did you come?_ ” his Dad shouts, and Stiles flinches, freezes, still holding the gallon of milk, and when he looks at his dad, he looks shocked at himself. Stiles calmly sets the milk down in the fridge, and closes the door firmly. 

“I don’t know,” he says shakily, “I guess I thought I was trying to make you happy.” He nods at Lydia, gesturing towards the door, and she grabs her purse and keys, hurrying to the foyer. 

“Well don’t do me any favors,” the Sheriff says, but it sounds just as shaky as Stiles follows Lydia out of the house.

They drive aimlessly around Beacon Hills for an hour in silence, relearning roads they once had memorized – still probably have memorized. Lydia finally says, “That was really harsh.” 

“I am the worst son to ever live,” Stiles agrees, and the car goes silent again. 

==

Scott and Allison’s five year anniversary party is held at Derek’s freshly rebuilt house – as in rebuilt four years ago, and Stiles and Lydia haven’t yet seen it – with all of the pack, Ms. McCall, the Sheriff, and other friends and family attending. Lydia pulls up and stares at the house for a long moment before cutting the engine off. “We can do this,” she says. 

“Yep,” Stiles says brightly, but neither of them makes the move to open their door. “Well,” Stiles says after five minutes. “This is a problem.”

Lydia shoots him a dirty look and swings her door open as if to prove herself, but doesn’t _actually_ get out of the car. “I’m going,” Stiles opens his own door, and places one leg on the ground. They stare at each other. Finally Lydia huffs out a breath and climbs out of the car, and Stiles has no choice but to follow, because Lydia is evil and will make him pay if he lets her go in by herself. 

“The house is huge,” Stiles whispers in Lydia’s ear. 

“It’s a rebuilt version of the old Hale house,” she hisses back. “Which was also huge, if you remember.” 

“Yeah, but it just seems like a lot of space for one guy.” 

“It’s not just one guy,” a voice says, and Stiles squeaks and jumps, whirling around to face Isaac, who is following them up the steps of the porch. 

“Isaac,” Stiles says, and his voice is still kind of high pitched. “Hi.”

“We all live here,” Isaac explains. “Even Scott and Allison.”

“Well aren’t you one great big, supernatural family,” Lydia’s tone is sarcastic. “Do you sleep standing up? Do you look for Little Red in the woods in the snow?”

“Now Lydia,” Stiles says, and Isaac arches a brow at him, like he’s surprised Stiles would challenge her. “Don’t go getting your creatures all mixed up.” He gives Isaac a sharp smile, and Isaac rolls his eyes. 

“Stiles!” Isaac is interrupted before he can say anything, and when Stiles turns around, Scott is there, staring wide eyed at him. Stiles stares back, and hesitates. 

He’s not entirely sure with the protocol for meeting up with your best friend – the best friend whose wedding you missed, the best friend who you turned down being best man for – for the first time in five years. Stiles shifts his feet, blinks at Scott. He still looks the same, Stiles thinks. Big brown eyes, a puppy dog expression on his face, hair all tussled, like he doesn’t bother doing anything with it. 

Stiles is brought out of his musings by Lydia pinching his side. He yelps, and then blinks. “Scott.” 

Behind him, Isaac coughs. “Uh, right,” Scott says finally. “You should – you should come inside! I, um. Well the party is in there,” Scott jerks a thumb, gesturing to the party. 

“Right,” Lydia says flatly. 

Scott stares at Stiles for another moment before he leads them into the house. Stiles looks all around the house, impressed. The house is, for lack of better adjectives, gorgeous. It’s tall ceilings and lightly colored walls. It’s impressive, stylish and comfortable furniture and floor to ceiling windows in the living room, bright and airy and giving the impression that the house is even larger than it already is. It’s barn style hardwood floors, adding an almost rustic look to everything. Stiles stares the entire way into the house, mouth dropped open in awe, and when he looks over, Lydia isn’t wearing any particular expression on her face tells Stiles what he needs to know: she’s impressed, too. 

“So, go ahead and – mingle?” Scott says, shrugging. “Allison is around here somewhere. I’m sure she’ll want to see you, Lydia,” he says awkwardly. He scratches the back of his neck, nods once, and then disappears into the crowd of people.

“It’s like a high school reunion with all the people I can no longer stand,” Lydia sniffs.

“Then why are we here?” Stiles asks, rolling his eyes and looping his arm with Lydia’s, scanning the room. He thinks he sees _Greenberg_ of all people. Christ, _Greenberg_ was at their wedding and Stiles wasn’t? Stiles blinks and shakes his head. 

“Stiles!” Stiles turns, and drags Lydia with him, until he’s facing Danny, of all people. 

Danny looks exactly the same, just as charming with his smiles, and the twinkle in his eyes. He’s wearing a huge grin and some extremely well-fitting clothes, and Stiles smiles back. “Danny,” he greets, “how are you?” 

“Well not as great as you, apparently,” Danny says, doing a once over on Stiles. “You look good, man.” 

Stiles laughs. “Thanks. Boston is good for the skin. Fresh air, changes, all that.” 

“You can an accent yet?” Danny asks, nudging Stiles with his shoulder, and Stiles laughs again. Beside him, Lydia shifts. “And Lydia,” Danny leans in, kissing her cheek. “Gorgeous as ever.” 

Lydia preens. “You’re just saying things,” she says. Danny beams at her. 

The three of them talk for a while, and Stiles is relieved, because he knows both he and Lydia were feeling like complete outcasts before Danny the Hero showed up to save them. They talk until someone Stiles either doesn’t know or doesn’t remember calls out to Danny, and Danny turns and apologizes for cutting the conversation short. “But hey,” he says, “how long are you guys in for?” 

“The rest of the week,” Stiles replies. Danny pulls out his cell phone and brings up his contacts. 

“Put your number in here,” he says with a smile. “I’ll text you sometime soon to meet up for lunch, okay?” 

Stiles smiles and puts his number in Danny’s phone, and Danny kisses both him and Lydia on the cheek before disappearing into the crowd. “At least someone doesn’t totally hate us,” Stiles murmurs to Lydia. 

Lydia snorts. “Danny doesn’t totally hate us because he still resents Jackson and the pack some for not tuning him in on the whole freak-people business until much, much later.” 

Stiles allows this, saying, “Forgot about that.” 

“We weren’t _here,_ ” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Danny emailed me a long ranting message telling me he understood why I ran like a bat out of hell from Beacon Hills.” 

“Oh yeah,” Stiles says thoughtfully. “ _That_ I remember.” 

They’re interrupted before Lydia can say anything by Isaac coming up to them again. “I brought you a drink,” Isaac offers a wineglass to Lydia. 

“Lucky you,” Stiles mutters under his breath, and Lydia elbows him and smiles at Isaac. 

“I don’t drink cheap wine,” she says.

Isaac laughs. “You think this is cheap? Derek is pickier about his wine than even you, probably. I swear, half his expenses are probably towards wine for dinner.” 

“I thought werewolves couldn’t get drunk,” Stiles accuses. Isaac eyes him. 

“We can’t; that doesn’t mean we don’t like to live in a tasteful manner.”

“Yes,” Lydia eyes her surroundings, the expensive furniture and the fireplace, with approval. “That’s certainly evident.” Isaac beams at her and Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“I’m going somewhere else,” Stiles says, pulling his arm from Lydia’s finally. 

“Where?” she demands. 

“To – mingle,” Stiles shrugs. Lydia shakes her head but lets him kiss her on the cheek before leaving her with Isaac. Isaac moves in and starts talking to her more. 

Stiles wanders around the house for some time, bumping into random people that he hasn’t seen in some time, but never any of the wolves he knows. He finds the bathroom and waits in line and when he finally gets inside he blinks in awe at how huge and tastefully decorated it is, before he stares at himself in the mirror for a good long hard minute. He’s interrupted from repeating his mantra of _I will not be weak when it comes to Derek_ when someone opens the door. 

Stiles whirls around, and comes face to face with Derek. “What the fuck?” he demands angrily. 

“You weren’t answering when I was knocking on the door,” Derek snaps, and he looks just as angry. 

“Maybe I wanted some privacy,” Stiles snarls. 

“Stiles –” 

“But of course that’s something you’ve never known how to give, and it appears that even though years have gone by, you still haven’t tried working on that,” Stiles keeps talking. 

“ _Stiles._ ” 

“And we all know you have _no_ sense of boundaries.” 

“Stiles, _shut the hell up,_ ” there’s a crack of glass as Derek punches the mirror to the left of Stiles and presses up close against him. Stiles stares back at Derek, at the way he’s panting and glaring at Stiles, eyes red. “You do not get to come back here and treat everything like it’s my entire fault,” Derek hisses.

“Oh, so it’s _my_ fault?” Stiles snarls, pushing his hands against Derek, trying to get some space between the two of them. “You did nothing wrong?”

“I know what I did,” Derek snaps. “But you _left._ ”

“You fucking told me to go!” Stiles cries out, and Derek stumbles back, blinking at him.

“I never told you to go,” Derek says, eerily calm and quiet. “ _Scott_ told you that if it was what you really wanted, you should go for it.”

“And you told me there was nothing keeping me here!” 

“After you’d already decided!” Derek yells. “You never gave me a chance to – you never asked my opinion.” 

“I think your opinion was pretty clear when you told me I was only there to warm your bed when you got lonely,” Stiles retorts, and Derek flinches.

“I never said it like that.”

“It was clear what you meant,” Stiles says, and straightens up, brushing tiny crystals of glass off his shoulder. He walks to the door. “You might want to get that glass cleaned up,” he says, before he walks out of the room. There’s a line to the bathroom, and Erica and Scott are both standing in it, staring at Stiles sadly. 

“No,” he snaps, and starts to walk past them. Scott grabs his arm before he can get away, and Stiles glares at him. Scott stares back for another moment, and there’s a split second of nothing before Scott just pulls Stiles in – and _hugs_ him. He hugs him so tight Stiles feels like he’s suffocating, and he gets choked up and tries to block the tears from spilling out. 

“ _Stiles,_ ” Scott says in this broken tone. “I’m sorry.” 

“M-me too,” Stiles says weakly, and lifts his arms up to hug Scott back. 

==

“So a fight with your dad, huh?” Scott asks him, picking at a blade of grass. They’re out in the woods, in peace and quiet, away from prying werewolf ears. Scott had managed to convince Allison that he could disappear from the party for a while without the entire thing falling apart, and Stiles hadn’t had to worry about Lydia because she was still engaged in a conversation with Isaac. 

“I feel like we’ve done nothing _but_ fight since I left Beacon Hills,” Stiles tells him. 

“He still doesn’t – uh – know?” Scott asks, clearing his throat. Stiles shakes his head and picks apart a wildflower, staring out towards the tree line of the clearing Scott had led him to. 

“He knows something happened,” Stiles says slowly, “and that every one of my friends were staying here, but Lydia had asked me to go to Boston with her. And then all the sudden I never wanted to come home for holidays or for summer, and he started getting frustrated somewhere in the middle of my sophomore year.” 

“Your dad – he’s a tough guy, man. He could handle it, you know?” 

“It’s not that, Scott. It’s not telling him. It’s that that part of my life is… it’s not part of my life _now._ ”

Scott is quiet for a moment before he asks in a small voice, “Is it – is it because of me, Stiles? I know I was a shitty friend, and I was locked up in a world where Allison was the only thing that existed for a really long time. And maybe I didn’t pay attention to things as much as I could’ve – which I know is why you were hurt when I said you weren’t needed here. But that wasn’t what I meant. I meant that… things were calm here for the first time in a long time, and you’re so smart – you deserved to go to college wherever you wanted.” 

“It wasn’t because of you,” Stiles whispers. “I mean, I know I took it the wrong way, but I was already – Derek had already – I was just looking for a reason,” Stiles settles on.

“So it’s Derek’s fault,” Scott’s tone hardens. 

Stiles doesn’t say anything. 

He lies back on the grass, and Scott lies next to him, and they stare at the sky for a long while. “I wish you could stay,” Scott whispers at one point, and Stiles reaches out and grips his hand tightly. 

==

“So that could’ve been worse,” Stiles says in Lydia’s car, on the way back to his father’s house. 

“It could’ve been better,” Lydia shrugs, glancing over at Stiles. “You ignored your father and Derek the entire time.”

“Didn’t see you talking to Jackson,” Stiles retorts, and they’re both silent for a moment. 

Lydia pulls up in front of the Sheriff’s house and cuts the engine, sighing. She runs fingers through her hair and looks seriously at Stiles. “I didn’t hate it as much as I thought,” she admits. 

“I – me either,” Stiles teeth click as he shuts his mouth quickly after, not wanting to admit it all that much. 

“You should go apologize to your dad,” Lydia blows out another sigh. Then she reaches over and pats Stiles’ cheek. “Maybe we were just running when we should’ve stayed right here and figured our shit out,” she says thoughtfully. She leans in and kisses his cheek and then kicks him out of the car, leaving Stiles incredibly confused as he watched her drive away. 

He heads into the house, and his dad is sitting at the kitchen table. Where most of their serious discussions have always happened, Stiles realizes, with dread weighing his stomach down. He slowly makes his way to the table and pulls out a chair. Stiles looks at his dad for a long moment and realizes that the Sheriff looks _tired._ A little older, a little more worn down, but mostly just tired. Like the fight this morning took out the last of his energy. He doesn’t say anything to Stiles; instead he just traces the condensation on his water glass and stares down at the table. 

“I was out of line,” Stiles says softly. “To say the things that I said – when you don’t have the whole story, when I can’t make myself tell you the whole story. And then you feel like it’s your fault. And it’s not.” Stiles swallows back against the lump in his throat. 

The Sheriff doesn’t say anything, just picks up his glass and takes a long drink. 

Stiles stares down at his hands for a moment before he says, “There was this guy… and in my senior year, we started. I don’t know. Messing around, I guess. But we never really defined the way our relationship worked, or anything. So then I started thinking about colleges, and at the same time, Jackson and Lydia were falling apart for the thousandth and final time. Lydia chose Boston, and I chose to ask this guy about our relationship, if it was going anywhere.” Stiles cuts off and looks up at his dad. 

To his surprise, his dad is staring intently at Stiles while he’s talking, and it gives Stiles the strength to go on. “So then… I asked Scott, if he wanted me to stay. And Scott said no. I took it the wrong way – Scott only wanted me to go where he thought I deserved to go to college, I realize that now. But I was already angry about the way – the way things had gone done when I tried to get a definition for my relationship with the guy. So I left. And I was angry for such a long time, Dad,” Stiles swallows. “I’m – I’m still angry.” 

“With Derek,” the Sheriff says. 

“What?”

“You’re angry with Derek,” Stiles’ dad looks at him, deep and honest, and Stiles looks away first. 

“How did you know?” 

“Everyone at Scott and Allison’s party heard about your argument. The line to the bathroom was very long. When you told me that story just now – I put it together. Derek Hale is not a very… well, he’s not good at displaying emotions now, is he?” 

Stiles shakes his head. 

“I am… sorry that we haven’t seen eye to eye for a while now,” the Sheriff says. “You’re my son and I love you no matter what, but I hate that you’re – you’re too scared to come home.” 

“I’m not scared!” Stiles yelps. The Sheriff eyes him. “A little scared,” Stiles allows. “There’s still more to the story that I just… don’t want to tell you.” 

“That’s alright, son,” Stiles’ dad says gruffly. “We’ll get there soon.” 

Stiles relaxes in his chair and soon his dad changes the subject, and they’re talking about other things; talking more than they have in five years now. Stiles feels like he has something that he lost back in his heart finally.

==

The next day Danny calls him, and Stiles tries to act like he isn’t completely surprised when Danny actually does ask him to lunch. “You don’t have a car, right?” Danny asks him. Stiles looks out the window towards the garage, where he knows his Jeep is still sitting, probably long past inspection. 

“Probably not,” he tells him.

“I’ll pick you up in twenty,” Danny says. “There’s a great little diner that went in two years ago, and it has excellent food.” 

Stiles showers and dresses in ten minutes and is waiting outside when Danny pulls up. “Hey,” he greets Stiles. 

“Hey.” Stiles buckles his seatbelt and turns to grin at Danny. 

“So I mean, I hate to jump to conclusions, but… you’ve grown up to be a real boy,” Danny flashes a smile at Stiles.

“Pinocchio,” he adds, and Danny rolls his eyes. 

“Shut up,” he chuckles. “What I mean is that – maturity and confidence is a good look on you, Stiles, and I’d like to. I don’t know, talk to you more.” 

“Like a date, right?” Stiles asks him, stomach fluttering. Danny nods, and almost looks nervous. 

“Like a date,” he confirms. Stiles doesn’t have to think about it much. He nods.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “this can be a date.” 

As far as dates go, this is one of the most pleasant ones Stiles has had in a while. Usually when he’s on a date he doesn’t care about personality much; he’s just looking for someone to get laid with. Danny is easy to talk to, and these days they have a lot more in common. At the end of the lunch date, Danny drops him back off at his dad’s, and Stiles sits in the car for a moment, before he says, “You want to come in?” and Danny nods and puts the car in park. 

Sex with Danny is good. It’s great, even, Stiles thinks. Danny is good at knowing exactly what Stiles wants, and Stiles has always had a thing for pleasing the person he’s with. But there’s something missing, and Stiles can’t help but think it’s because he’s here in Beacon Hills, but he’s with someone different from the one person he’s only ever been with here, at home.

When they’re done, Danny lies next to Stiles, breathing hard. “That was –” 

And Stiles says, “Yep,” in a strangled voice. 

“We probably aren’t –” 

And Stiles says, “Probably not.” He looks at Danny. “I’m sorry, Danny.” 

“It’s okay,” Danny shrugs, grinning back. “You were a good lay. It was good. But I always knew you were in love with Derek.” 

“I’m not –” Stiles snaps his mouth shut and thinks about it for a moment. “It doesn’t matter,” he says slowly. “Because Derek doesn’t love me.” Danny just eyes him.

“Stiles, I don’t know what Derek said to make you go away, but whatever it was? It was a lie. I’m not saying forgive him, because any guy stupid enough to not go after you when you left doesn’t really deserve you, if you don’t want him. But the thing is. You do want him. So maybe you should – I don’t know. Talk it out at least.” 

Danny gets up from the bed and starts getting dressed. When he’s finished he leans down and kisses Stiles once, lightly, on the lips. “You’re a real catch,” he says softly, “and I’m sorry I didn’t get to you first.” 

Stiles smiles sleepily at him, before Danny waves once and leaves, and Stiles drifts off to sleep. 

It’s apparently a habit that he is woken up at least once in his sleep while in Beacon Hills. He wakes up to the window slamming shut, and eyes shining through the dark. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Stiles hisses, sitting up and pulling the sheets around him.

“It smells _disgusting_ in here,” Derek snarls. 

“Well I mean – I haven’t taken a good sniff, but I don’t think it smells that bad,” Stiles pauses. “Yet.” 

“It smells like sex,” Derek says flatly.

“Well,” Stiles pauses again. “Well that did happen.” He looks down at the sheets still covering him, and when he looks up, he can see Derek’s teeth. 

“What the fuck?” Derek asks.

“Danny and I –” 

“ _Danny,_ ” Derek repeats, in a tone that says he thinks Danny is a dirty, dirty name. 

Stiles says, “Uh.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You can’t have me so you go after someone else in my pack?” Derek hisses. 

“Uh, _no_ , but you really must think pretty highly of yourself, you douchebag,” Stiles snaps. “I didn’t see a collar that read, ‘Belongs to Derek Hale, don’t fuck,’ on Danny. And Danny was the one who _initiated_ it. And believe it or not, you’re not at the top of my list when it comes to people I think about when I’m about to have sex with someone.” 

Which is a total lie, but if Derek calls him out on it, Stiles will vehemently deny it and blame his anger for the rapid beating of his heart. 

“You _knew_ he was part of the pack.”

“You’re acting like a jealous child!” Stiles yells, and stands up, wrapping the sheet around him. He points a finger at him. “It’s not like I just intentionally slept with a member of your fucking pack. I don’t see what the big fucking deal is anyway. What, you want him to fuck someone else in the pack? You want him to fuck you?”

“I want you to stop _fucking_ everyone!” Derek snaps. 

There’s a pause. 

“What.” Stiles repeats, in a deadly, calm tone, one that he’s never used before. He’s kind of scared of what he’s capable of; he’s reached a level beyond anger. 

Derek opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. “ _What did you just say_?” Stiles asks him, still in that same exact tone. 

Derek doesn’t say anything. 

Stiles says, “Get out. Get out right now, or I am – I will wake my dad up. And I will have you arrested for trespassing. I am so fucking serious, Derek. Get the fuck out, and don’t come back for the rest of the week. Don’t look for me, don’t even call me. And when I’m gone – I’m _staying_ gone.” 

“I didn’t –” 

“ _Get out!_ ” Stiles yells, and he hears his dad in the hallway, knows that he woke up the first time and was just waiting for Stiles, making sure he was okay. It sounds like he’s trying to decide whether or not to open the door. 

Across from him, Derek flinches, and goes to the window and climbs back out. 

Stiles stands in the middle of his old bedroom with a sheet wrapped around his waist, the fingers holding it trembling. He stares at the spot where Derek just stood and blinks and tries to swallow back the acid-burning taste that appeared around the time Derek accused him of being a total slut. When he’s calm enough, he stumbles through the sheets back to his bed, falls in, and goes to sleep knowing that his dad is still standing out there listening, and reassuring Stiles. 

==

“So what happened last night?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Stiles stabs viciously at a piece of bacon with his fork. It’s crispy, the kind of crispy that won’t allow for forks to pick it up, so it falls apart under the fork. Stiles glares at it and gives up, dropping his fork and picking up his coffee mug. 

“Stiles,” the Sheriff says, and then pauses. He wrinkles his nose and says, “Wait, how did Hale get in here?” 

“The window,” Stiles mutters. 

“The… window? He climbed up to the window? There are no trees next to your room, Stiles!” 

“He’s acrobatic, what can I say,” Stiles says, and shoves a huge bite of pancakes into his mouth. The Sheriff frowns. 

He’s about to say something, but Lydia breezes into the kitchen like it’s her own house, and falls down into the remaining kitchen chair, next to Stiles. “A little birdie told me you had a very pleasant lunch with Danny,” she says sweetly, looking at him. The she looks him up and down and says, “You don’t _look_ well laid.” 

The Sheriff chokes. Stiles glares. 

Lydia smiles sweetly. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, I couldn’t help myself.” 

“Danny was _fine,_ ” Stiles says. “Danny wasn’t the problem at all. Stiles was the problem. And then Derek was the problem.”

“Don’t talk about yourself in third person; you sound like an egotistical bastard,” Lydia says. 

“Anyway,” Stiles says loudly, glaring again. “Danny was a nice date, but it probably won’t happen again.” 

“Why _not_?” Lydia demands.

“Because apparently I’m poaching on Derek’s pa – um. Friends.” Stiles remembers his dad is sitting there just in time to cover up what he was about to say. Lydia stares at him.

“Really,” she says flatly. 

Stiles nods. 

“Poaching?” The Sheriff asks. 

Stiles says, “Uh.” 

The Sheriff continues, “That sounds pretty absurd. Weren’t they your friends first?” Stiles shrugs.

“Yeah, but we left. So apparently we aren’t a part of that group anymore. It’s okay though,” Stiles takes a drink of coffee and sets it down, only to have Lydia snatch it up and start drinking it. “I mean, come on, Dad. I know I messed up a lot.” The Sheriff coughs and doesn’t say anything, but he does nod. 

“So I figured I’d just spend some time with my old man here,” Stiles says cheerily. “Starting by going grocery shopping, because you can’t just live with the bare minimum of groceries. And peanut butter isn’t actually as good for you as you try to argue it is.” 

“I like peanut butter,” his dad mumbles. 

“The house could use some sprucing up, too,” Lydia says, resting her chin on her hand and tapping a finger against her lips in thought. “Say, Sheriff, how about I do some redecorating?” 

Stiles’ dad looks stricken, panic rising up in a blush across his face as he stares at Lydia open mouthed. Stiles smothers a laugh behind his hand and says very seriously, “Lydia decorated our entire house, and you know how could it looks.” 

“Your furniture is _outdated_ ,” Lydia says disgustedly. 

The Sheriff looks amused, and when he looks at Stiles, Stiles looks like he’s completely used to this. He only shrugs at his Dad, pretty much the signal for, ‘Lydia will do whatever she wants, regardless of what you say.’ “Sure,” the Sheriff says. “But don’t get anything too expensive.” 

Lydia huffs. “You won’t have to worry about expenses, Sheriff. Come on, Stiles. We’ll do your grocery shopping and then head into the city for a few hours. I may be calling for some measurements, Sheriff,” she calls out to him, as she drags Stiles out the door. 

“So much for spending time together!” the Sheriff shouts. Stiles laughs.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be spending time together when she forces us to put furniture together and move it around, Dad. See you in a few.” 

==

Stiles tumbles through the door, arms full of bags, Lydia behind him with her own armload. The Sheriff takes one look at them, whistles, and disappears into the kitchen where Stiles can smell something decidedly greasy cooking. Stiles grumbles about fathers not following their diets as he drops the bags on the living room couch, before following his dad into the kitchen.

Where Derek is sitting.

“No,” Stiles says simply, and turns back around to walk out.

“Stiles, just wait!” The Sheriff calls after him. Stiles halts, but doesn’t turn to face his dad or Derek. 

“What,” he says flatly, “could possibly be so interesting that the two of you are talking?” 

The Sheriff says, “Werewolves, for one.” 

Stiles whirls around, eyes landing angrily on Derek, who has the gall to look pleased with himself. “You fucking douche bag,” Stiles shouts. The smile doesn’t even slide of Derek’s face. He doesn’t even _flinch._

Lydia comes around the corner into the kitchen, takes one look at the scene in front of her, and disappears again. 

“Stiles, he told me everything.” 

“You are so stupid – you _knew_ I wanted to keep him out of this.” 

“Back when the pack was just settling, your excuses were reasonable,” Derek nods. “But we haven’t had trouble here for a long time. We’ve settled and established our presence. No one bothers us. The Argents have a treaty with us that keeps hunters off our back surprisingly well, too. There was no excuse not to tell him, Stiles.”

“Yes there was!” Stiles shouts at him. “What about the fact that he’s _my_ father, and I wanted to keep him safe. Maybe there’s no danger now, but who knows what’ll happen in a year, a month, a week. Anything could happen, and the less he knows, the better off he is! Or, Derek, what about the fact that I have nothing to do with your stupid supernatural shit now, so why should he have to know? What about the fact that I should’ve been the one to tell him? God, you – I can’t even believe you.” 

By the end of Stiles’ rant, Derek is looking particularly angry, and his dad is looking at him with surprise and affection, like he’s just realized that Stiles only kept this secret to keep him safe. 

Derek says, “It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to be a part of this pack, you know about these things, and to keep you safe, you _are_ a part of this pack.” 

“Fuck you!” Stiles shouts.

“ _Stiles,_ ” his dad says.

“No, seriously, fuck you, Derek! If I had been pack – if Lydia had been pack, someone would have asked us to stay. No one asked, and no one cared. You never came calling for me, hell, you never even _called_ me.” 

“I asked you to stay!” Derek yells, standing up. The Sheriff takes a step closer like he’s not sure how this conversation is going to go.

“Saying ‘It’s your decision,’ is not _asking me to stay._ Saying, you’re human, you’re not really a member of a werewolf pack, doesn’t count. You told me to _go._ ” 

“I said don’t go, after that. I asked you not to go.” Derek growls.

Stiles opens his mouth, but stops short. 

_“Faster. C’mon, Derek, faster. Just this one time.” Derek slams into him, Stiles arches underneath him, back bow-string tight, muscles clenching, sparks shooting behind his eyelids. Derek kisses his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his lips._

_He kisses his neck and whispers, “Don’t go,” and Stiles is too busy coming to say anything._

“That doesn’t count,” Stiles says shakily. “That doesn’t fucking _count._ ” 

Derek blinks at him. Stiles looks back, wringing his hands together and shrugging. “You – I’m not – that doesn’t count, and you know it. And god, Derek. I hate you. I hate you _so much,_ but for some reason I have had the hardest fucking time staying away from you.”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, laughing bitterly. 

“Well,” the Sheriff says quietly. “This evening took a sudden turn.” 

Stiles laughs again, sharp and jagged. “I’m sorry,” he says numbly. “I’m sorry I lied to you for so long, I just – I wanted to keep you,” Stiles swallows. “I wanted to keep you safe.” 

“That’s not your job; you know that, right, son?” his Dad asks him softly, and Stiles shakes his head.

“It is my job, it’s my job because I can’t – I can’t lose you. I know we’ve grown apart because –” 

“ – Because you held this back,” the Sheriff says, before Stiles can make any excuses. 

“It was for the best!” Stiles says. 

Derek says, “It’s not for the best. Secrets aren’t for the best.” 

Stiles glares at him. “You’re one to talk. You are such a hypocrite, I don’t even know. You need to leave, Derek. You’ve done enough damage.”

Derek walks towards the door, but pauses on his way out of the kitchen. “I should’ve asked you to stay,” he whispers, so Stiles can just barely hear it. “I would’ve – if I’d. If I’d been in a better place.” 

“Yeah well. You didn’t,” Stiles says bitterly. Derek leaves. 

Stiles turns back to his dad and his dad opens his arms. Stiles doesn’t even hesitate before falling into them and repeating how sorry he is, over and over. Eventually they’ll have to sit down. Eventually, Stiles will call Lydia into the kitchen to help him explain how their high school years took a turn for the worst; just how many times they both have nearly died. Maybe, Stiles’ dad will have questions. Probably, he’ll put together that all those deaths back then were supernatural-related.

But the thing about Stiles’ father is that he takes it in stride, and when it comes down to it, he’s probably the greatest father Stiles could have ever asked for – rough patches and all.

==

The rest of the week falls into a better fashion. Lydia destroys and then actually fixes the Stilinski house up into a nice, updated version of what it was. Stiles hangs out with Scott and ignores Isaac coming around and following Lydia around like a lost puppy. He catches up on Allison and Scott’s last few years when he has lunch with both of them, and the nice thing about Scott is that he’s grown up, matured too, and now his conversations don’t revolve entirely around Allison and what she’s doing or what she smells like. 

Instead they talk about his business. Because Scott owns a _business._ With Allison. “Construction, huh?” Stiles asks after Allison has gone back into their office, and Scott and Stiles are left sitting in the restaurant. 

“Yeah,” Scott smiles. “I like… it’s peaceful. Something to do with my hands, and I’m good at it. Allison got her degree in architecture. She designs the houses, and I build them. It works really well.” 

“That’s - that’s really great, man,” Stiles says, smiling. 

“You though,” Scott smiles. “Grad school. That’s pretty fantastic.” 

Stiles shrugs. “I’m not ready to work yet; I’ve enjoyed school too much, I guess. I don’t know.” 

“What are you gonna do, though? When you graduate?” 

Stiles shrugs. “I can teach college courses. I can start my own business. I could like, go to law school. It just kind of depends on what I _want_ to do.” 

“You know… the community college is always hiring here,” Scott says tentatively. “I know you’ve got three more years of Grad school and stuff but. Something to consider.” 

He sounds tentative but hopeful, and Stiles doesn’t want to hurt his feelings any more than he already has in the past five years, so he shrugs. “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Something to consider.” 

At the end of the week Scott and Allison show up to drive Lydia and him back to the airport, and Stiles hugs his dad tight. “Call more,” Stiles instructs his dad. “Lydia taught you how to Skype, too. Use it, okay?” 

The Sheriff laughs. “Only if you do.”

Lydia hugs the Sheriff and both her parents, who had come over for a Farewell lunch. “Don’t ruin my living room,” Lydia orders the Sheriff. Stiles’ dad rolls his eyes. 

“Of course not,” he says. “I’m actually kind of scared to sit on the new couch.” Stiles smothers his laughter behind another hug, and they’re about to climb into the car when Isaac pulls up. 

“I wanted to say goodbye,” Isaac says. Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“I have been down this road before. Good luck, dude.” Stiles claps Isaac on the shoulder, and grins at Lydia, who is shooting him her best death glare, before getting into the back of Scott and Allison’s truck. 

“What’s up with that?” Scott asks, peering out the window to where Isaac is speaking rapidly to Lydia, and Lydia is standing, arms crossed, looking kind of amused. There’s a pause while Lydia rolls her eyes and pulls Isaac in for a hug. She shoves a piece of paper in his hands, kisses his cheek, and heads toward the truck. 

“That,” Stiles says, “Is Isaac’s undying love for Lydia Martin.”

“There’s one in every crowd,” Allison sighs. 

“Yeah, remember when it used to be you?” Scott asks, and laughs. “Man, you had it so bad.” 

“That was before he discovered dick was more his type,” Lydia says as she gets in. Stiles gives her a dirty look. 

Everyone laughs except Stiles, because it’s not really that funny, until Scott stops suddenly and says, “Hey, when did Derek come see you?” 

“Uh.” Stiles says. 

“He hasn’t been here in five days,” Lydia answers. 

Scott shakes his head. “No he was here today. Like. Maybe before us?” 

“Well, I didn’t see him, and I’m not sorry about it,” Stiles says. “Now drive before we miss our flight, dude.” 

They’re dropped off with hugs and kisses at the airport, and Allison wrangles both of them into promising to come back for Christmas, even though Stiles has no doubt Lydia had her fingers crossed behind her back while she was promising it. When they’re finally on the plane, a glass of Ketel One in Lydia’s hands, and a glass of wine in Stiles’, Lydia turns to him. “It wasn’t so bad, right?” 

Stiles contemplates this for a moment. “It didn’t go as badly as I imagined,” he finally says slowly, and there’s a sharp, knowing smile on Lydia’s face. “I want to go home though,” Stiles tacks on, but the smile on Lydia’s face gets more smug, and Stiles knows he’s lost this one. 

==

Months go by and suddenly Stiles is facing the end of his fall semester. Stiles works in the student library and they’re cutting down the number of staff on duty for winter break. Stiles almost always signs up to work the shifts, but this time, he doesn’t. Lydia gives him a knowing look and disappears upstairs to her room for an hour. When she comes back down she shoves a piece of paper into Stiles’ hands. It’s a plane ticket in Stiles’ name. 

“I’m frightened you know my driver’s license number by heart,” Stiles tells her. Lydia gives him a wicked grin. “Also I’m not going to Beacon Hills.” 

“Yes you are,” Lydia singsongs. Stiles stirs the pasta on the stove and turns back to her. 

“It’s not a good idea, Lyds. There’s – there’s nothing there for me.” 

Which is a lie. His dad is there and they’ve been skyping and texting and calling each other more than they have since Stiles made the move out to Boston. He often opens his phone to random texts from his dad that say things like, “Woman pushed off a cliff, is that supernatural?” and Stiles will have to laugh and text back that not _everything_ in Beacon Hills is supernatural; there haven’t even been any deaths in a long time now. Stiles’ dad happens to be an expert at using emoticons, and he always sends a  >:( back with, “would make solving this much easier.”

Scott is there, and he and Stiles have been sending emails and texts to each other daily. Allison, who will email him and ask for advice about her latest design, because apparently Lydia told her he has good taste when it comes to choosing houses and furniture – almost as good as Lydia’s. And Isaac, who doesn’t email him as much as he emails Lydia, but occasionally Stiles checks his inbox to find an email from him asking what Lydia’s favorite flowers are, or what books she loves most. Almost always two days after Stiles replies, there will be a package waiting for Lydia when she gets home from class. 

Lydia is falling for Isaac, and she’s contemplating going back to Beacon Hills, because there’s someone waiting there for her. But Stiles – he has his father, and Scott – but it’s not enough. He can’t go back to a place where Derek will breathe the same air as him, but dismiss him easily. Stiles doesn’t have that strength. 

“Stiles, you promised,” Lydia says. 

“I had my fingers crossed and so did you,” Stiles says automatically, which has been his argument every time Lydia tries to talk about him going back to Beacon Hills for Christmas. 

“That argument is not going to withhold this conversation any longer,” Lydia sniffs. “You’re going to Beacon Hills because I was nice and bought you a first class plane ticket, and if you _don’t_ go, I’m not giving you your present.” 

This is how Stiles finds himself on yet another plane to California, opting to take Ambien rather than drink, two days after his last final. Lydia sits next to him flipping through a magazine, and everything is foggy in that just-before-passing-out type of way for Stiles. He rests his head on her shoulder, and she pauses for a moment, before wrapping an arm around him, and running her fingers through his hair. 

“Admit it,” Stiles sleep-slurs, right before slipping off into his dreams. “I’m the best gay best friend you could’ve asked for.” 

Lydia snorts, tugs on his hair a little, before grinning and kissing his forehead. 

==

Stiles and Lydia both rent cars since they’re going to be in Beacon Hills for a month and a half this time. Stiles gets something sporty, flashy, and Lydia gets the same, and they probably pay too much for it, but they’re young and they’re allowed to. He kisses Lydia on the cheek and tells her they’ll catch up for dinner tomorrow night, and she speeds out of the parking lot. Stiles sits in the car for a while, before putting it into gear. When he gets to Beacon Hills, instead of going straight to his dad’s, he drives around aimlessly for a while. The roads are familiar, but they’re not as close to Stiles’ heart as they used to be, so he spends time relearning them before going back to his dad’s house. 

When he pulls into the drive, all the lights are out. He uses his key and slips inside, heading into the kitchen. There’s a note on the fridge that says the Sheriff was called into work, he’ll be back late, and there’s a fully stocked fridge. 

“Great,” Stiles mumbles, tearing the note down and writing on the back of it that he’s gone to bed. 

He grabs his bags out of the car and drags them upstairs. He falls into bed and doesn’t even realize he’s exhausted until he’s passed out. 

When he wakes up in the morning he walks downstairs to find his dad sitting at the kitchen table. 

With Derek.

Stiles turns back around and heads towards the stairs again. “Stiles,” he Dad calls, and Stiles huffs out a sigh. He enters the kitchen again.

“Dad,” Stiles nods. He clears his throat. Derek is looking down at what appears to be a case file. He’s dressed in – he’s dressed in a _deputy’s uniform._ Stiles chokes. “Deputy H-Hale.” 

Derek looks up and he looks almost amused. 

“I may have convinced Derek to take his civil test and deputy’s test,” the Sheriff says quietly. 

“May have,” Stiles repeats faintly. “I’m gonna – I have to go make a call,” Stiles gestures towards the second floor and his bedroom. “You just – uh. Do your job? And I’ll just uh. Go make that call,” Stiles finishes weakly, and runs out of the room. 

Upstairs, he grabs his phone and hits the speed dial button and listens to the phone ring. “Stiles, you’ve barely been home twelve hours, what could your dilemma possibly be?”

“Did you know?” Stiles hisses into the phone.

There’s a pause. Lydia says, “I hate to admit I’m clueless because it rarely happens, but you got me, Stiles. You’ve stunned me. What did I know?” 

“ _Deputy Hale,_ ” Stiles spits out. 

“Deputy Hale?” Lydia asks, sounding incredulous. “What are you talking about, Stiles?” 

There’s a rustle and the sound of someone else speaking, and Lydia hissing back at them. “No,” Stiles says. “ _No!”_

“Oh, Stiles, quit with the dramatics,” Lydia says, and Stiles just knows she’s rolling her eyes. 

“You and – you – I – you have got to be kidding me! I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone! I’m in another dimension. I’m – you – Isaac. And Derek. Jesus Christ,” Stiles whines, clutching at his head. 

“Stiles, seriously,” Lydia huffs. “So Derek’s a deputy, what does that matter? You’re over him, right? That’s what you said when we came back home last time.”

“I lied.”

“I never would have thought,” Lydia says dryly. “Look, what do you want me to do? Come over and kick Derek’s ass? Or tell you what I’ve always told you?”

“Tell me what you always tell me,” Stiles whimpers. 

“I don’t think he deserves you,” Lydia says simply. “But for some reason, you still love him anyway. Do I think he screwed up? Yes. He should have said you meant more. He should have used his words instead of acting like an emotionally stunted three year old. But we’re not exactly known for choosing guys that know how to talk.” There’s an indignant _hey!_ on Lydia’s side of the phone, and Stiles snorts. “Stiles, this is up to you. It’s up to you whether you want to forgive him. It’s up to you to give him another shot. I’ll side with you either way.” 

“I know,” Stiles whispers. 

“But, Stiles,” Lydia hesitates. “We’re adults now. Running away from our problems – ignoring them – it only works for so long. I don’t hate Beacon Hills anymore… I probably never did.” 

Stiles hesitates for a second before he says, “I never hated it either.” 

Lydia laughs. “Go fix your life, Stiles. You’ve got a month to do it.” She hangs up, and Stiles stands there staring blankly at the wall for a long moment, before he pulls on a shirt and heads back down to the kitchen. 

“So who wants eggs?” Stiles claps his hands together. 

“Over easy,” his dad says automatically. He looks up hopefully at Stiles. “Bacon, too?” Stiles grimaces. 

“Four pieces; if it’s turkey bacon you can have six.”

“Four,” the Sheriff grumbles. Stiles pulls everything out and starts cooking. He’s finished his father’s eggs when he hesitates. 

“Still like them scrambled, Deputy Hale?” Stiles asks. He kind of hates how attractive ‘Deputy Hale’ really sounds. 

“You can call me Derek,” Derek sounds amused. “You know. Since that’s how you’ve always referred to me.” 

“Well now you’ve got a title of respect,” Stiles says lightly. “Scrambled eggs? Or none at all?” His tone sounds kind of snappy. 

“I’ve already eaten, thanks.” 

“I hope not any bunnies,” Stiles grumbles under his breath. He sets his father’s plate down in front of him and notes how his father is trying not to laugh. Stiles gives him a glare before turning back to the stove to start his own breakfast. 

“So Derek and I have got a suspicious animal attack to look into all day; I won’t be back until late tonight.” 

“Suspicious animal attack like… supernatural suspicious animal attack?” Stiles asks, chopping up his eggs with the spatula and flipping them. He adds some salt and pepper and ‘hmms’ under his breath.

“Don’t go looking for trouble,” Derek says sharply.

Stiles whirls around, eyes narrowed. “First of all, you? Not my boss. Second of all, I think I said this last time? But I have _no_ interest in supernatural things.” There’s a skip in Stiles’ heartbeat as he says it, and Derek’s own eyes narrow, but he doesn’t call Stiles out on the lie. 

“I think I’m actually going to call Danny tonight,” Stiles says. 

Derek gets up abruptly and walks out of the house. 

The Sheriff whistles. “That was harsh, Stiles.” 

Stiles grunts.

==

He doesn’t actually call Danny. He meant it when he said they work better as friends, even though the sex was pretty great. Instead he sits upstairs in his room staring at the light snow dusting his father’s front lawn, and thinks about how back in Boston there’s probably a good three feet of snow, and when he walks outside in Boston, if he doesn’t have a scarf covering his nose the tip of it turns bright red with cold, and his breath shows with every word he says. Here, the snow is just barely there, and the cold isn’t as sharp and frosty. Familiar Christmas lights twinkle, and every house on the block has their Christmas tree in a window so when neighbors drive past they can look in and see their decorations. 

The Sheriff’s house is dark. Stiles guesses he hasn’t had much cause to decorate the last few years, and maybe he was waiting for Stiles to come home before he decorated this year. Stiles decides he’ll get things pulled out now. He does a quick but effective cleanup of the house before he heads up to the attic and starts tugging things down. Soon, boxes of ornaments and other Christmas decorations are scattered through the living room.

They need a tree, Stiles muses, surveying the mess. 

His dad won’t be back until late tonight, so Stiles calls Scott. “You want me to help you what?” Scott asks. 

“Get a tree? If you and Allison aren’t busy.” Stiles shrugs, even though Scott can’t see him. 

“No, no, I can,” Scott rushes to assure him. “I guess I just thought you’d be calling to um… yell?” 

“Yell about what?” Stiles asks blankly, and Scott huffs across the line.

“About Derek.” 

“Oh,” Stiles says, realization hitting him. “Deputy Hale.” Scott erupts into laughter across the line and Stiles grins. He always knew Scott had an appreciation for his humor. 

“You make it sound so… oh, man,” Scott finishes laughing. “So bad, I guess.” 

“Yeah well. I would be mad at you if I didn’t know you didn’t tell me just to avoid the Derek-topic in general.”

“I thought it was a sore spot,” Scott replies somberly. 

“Thanks. So how about that tree, dude?” 

“Sure thing, man. What if I call Isaac and we make a bro date out of it?”

“Are you sure you can pull him away from Lydia for that?” Stiles asks. Scott laughs again. 

“Isaac loves Christmas, he’ll want to come, trust me.” 

This is how Stiles finds himself in Scott’s truck once again, with Isaac in the backseat, a rosy, happy glow to his face, and a smile he can’t wipe off of it. Stiles grimaces when Isaac gets in. He really doesn’t want to know. “Hey, Scott. Stiles,” Isaac beams. 

“Isaac,” Stiles nods back. “How are you?” 

“I’m good. Really good,” Isaac says happily. “Plus now we’re getting another Christmas tree. Can we help you decorate it, Stiles?” Stiles turns to look at him.

“Uh,” he says. 

The look on Isaac’s face falls.

“No, no,” Stiles rushes to reassure him. “You can totally help decorate, Isaac. In fact, you should text Lydia and ask her to come. Scott, you text Allison. When we’re done getting the tree you should stop at the grocery store and I’ll grab the stuff for hot chocolate.” 

“And your cookies?” Isaac sounds hopeful. Stiles arches a brow. 

“Sure,” he finally sighs. 

They spend about twenty minutes looking for what Stiles deems the perfect tree. Scott and Isaac lift it up, carrying it back to the truck, insisting they don’t need Stiles’ help. When they’re done, Scott stops off at the grocery store, and Stiles grabs everything he needs for hot chocolate and peanut butter blossom cookies. 

The Sheriff finds them in the kitchen baking, Allison and Lydia chatting as they stand by the stove waiting for the first batch of cookies to be done so they can hurriedly shove Hershey’s Kisses on them before putting them back in the oven for a minute, Stiles mixing more peanut butter and sugar and eggs together, and Isaac peeling an ever-growing amount of Hershey’s Kisses foils off the chocolates. Scott flits between helping Stiles and eating Issac’s Hershey’s. 

“Get changed,” Stiles instructs his Dad. The Sheriff arches a brow, and Stiles realizes just how alike they are with that gesture. He waves him towards the stairs. “Come on, go. We’ve got a house to decorate, and these will be done soon. Dinner, too.” 

“They’re staying?” the Sheriff gestures toward the group gathered in the kitchen. 

“Of course they’re staying,” Stiles gives him an incredulous look. “I didn’t invite them just to help make dinner and cookies and not get any in return. Everyone loves my chicken noodle soup.” 

The Sheriff says, “Only I just in –” the back door opens and Derek steps into the house. “Uh,” the Sheriff clears his throat.

There’s a long silence in the kitchen, broken by the timer going off. “Hm,” Lydia sniffs at Derek dismissively, before pulling the oven door open, grabbing a bowl of already-peeled chocolates, and starting to stick them down on the cookies, almost violently. Allison looks between Derek and Stiles one more time before starting to help. 

Isaac takes one look, picks up his bag of Hershey’s Kisses and the bowl and disappears into the living room with a whine. Scott stands up straighter and takes a noticeable step towards Stiles, like he’s determined to not say the wrong thing this time. Stiles knows deep down that Scott has _always_ sided with him, even if sometimes the he did things the wrong way. Scott isn’t dumb – he’s just blindsided by the need to keep everyone he loves safe, and he thought Stiles going away meant he was safe and happier. Stiles has learned to accept this over the last few months, talking to Scott and listening to Scott’s repetitive apologies – he’s even had a few of his own to make. 

Stiles stares at Derek for a moment longer before he sniffs almost as dismissively as Lydia and turns to the stove to stir his soup. “Deputy Hale,” he drawls. “You’re lucky soup happens to feed many.”

“I can leave,” Derek says to Stiles’ Dad. 

His Dad stares at Stiles, unsure, for a moment. Then he shakes his head. “No need,” he says. “If Stiles made enough, then you’re welcome to stay, just as I invited you. You’ll be helping decorate, though,” he warns. 

“Hey, did you text Erica like I asked?” Stiles nudges Allison. Allison nods. 

“She’s on her way.” 

The doorbell rings not five minutes later, and Erica appears in the kitchen, throwing her arms around Stiles’ neck and kissing his cheek. “I’ve missed your cookies,” she says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles grumbles, but really, he’s happy. There are some people who aren’t here today – they couldn’t be, or didn’t want to be – but for the most part, every one of Stiles’ friends is here, and Stiles likes the feeling of wholeness that’s taking up his entire self at this moment in time. 

Scott sets the table and Stiles calls everyone in. He serves his dad first and then serves Derek. “Town heroes first,” he says. The Sheriff rolls his eyes. Derek stiffens. After everyone is served, Stiles sits down, tells them to start eating, and it’s basically like a scene from his high school years, with every male werewolf at the table scarfing their food down like it’s a race – and two human males who eat almost as fast – and Allison, Lydia, and Erica looking at them disgustedly as they eat their own meal. 

When they’re done, they sit at the table talking. Derek doesn’t say anything. The Sheriff joins in occasionally. Isaac asks what’s up with the animal attacks. 

“Well it turns out it was a bear,” the Sheriff tells him. “Couple of teens provoking him and the bear got mad. We called animal control in, so it’s in their hands now.” 

Stiles isn’t ashamed to say he’s relieved, and the rest of the group looks the way he feels. Even Derek. 

“We should clean the kitchen up and then decorate, right?” Stiles asks, jumping up.

The rest of the evening is a blur of tinsel, glitter, reminiscing about homemade ornaments, cookies and hot chocolate. It’s late when they finish but everyone is pleasantly exhausted, grinning up at the way-too-full tree, the lights twinkling and reflecting off the window, and humming to the Christmas music in the background. Isaac’s got his arms wrapped around Lydia, Scott’s around Allison’s, and Stiles and Erica are dancing around goofily to a slow song while the others sway. 

Erica laughs as Stiles dips her dramatically. “I missed you,” she says when she straightens back up, and rests her head against his shoulder. Stiles wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head. He thinks if he’d stuck around Beacon Hills, Erica would’ve been one of his closest friends, someone he confided secrets in like he does with Lydia. 

He doesn’t like to think about the ‘what if’s’ because it burns inside him. 

The song switches off, signaling the end of the Christmas CD Stiles’ mother made years and years ago. Everyone rouses out of their daze, and Scott glances at his watch. “It’s pretty late,” he says. “We should probably get going.” Erica pulls out of Stiles’ grip and kisses him on the cheek once more before going to get her coat. Stiles sees everyone to the door.

“This was good,” Scott says, hugging him tight.

“Yeah, no, it was great,” Stiles nods back. 

“We should do it again? Maybe have like a Christmas party thing? Allison and I are doing Christmas Day with my mom? You and your dad could come.” 

“Maybe.” Stiles nods. “I know Mrs. Martin is expecting us, too.” Scott wrinkles his nose.

“Mrs. Martin cooks?” 

Lydia appears and slaps him across the head. “My mother happens to be an excellent cook, McCall; watch your tone.” Stiles laughs. 

“Mrs. Martin cooks a great meal,” he says. “She came to Boston a couple times and cooked for us, it was great. But I’ll try to make it to your mom’s, too.” 

“Sure thing, dude,” Scott grins. Allison pecks him on the cheek before leaving. Lydia eyes him for a moment. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” Stiles blinks. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You know exactly why,” Lydia says, but pats him on the cheek. Isaac throws his arms around him and hugs him goodbye before taking Lydia’s hand and heading to the car. 

Stiles closes the door behind everyone and rests his head against it, breathing deep. 

“Oh, sorry.” 

Stiles whirls around to find Derek holding his coat, frozen, blinking at Stiles. Stiles breathes out. “’S fine,” he mutters, stepping away from the door and moving to get past Derek. Derek grabs his arm before Stiles can get away. 

“Stiles,” he says, and his voice sounds tight. 

Stiles says, “Deputy,” and Derek’s grip tightens.

“Please stop calling me that,” Derek says. 

“It’s what you are, aren’t you?” Stiles asks, pulling away. “Tell me, Derek, did you tell my dad about the wolves just to get on his good side? Were you hoping for the job when you did it? What did you want, Derek, and did you get it?” 

Derek looks pained.

“I did it for you, Stiles. I didn’t do it to get on anyone’s good side but _yours._ I wasn’t hoping for anything but your forgiveness, because I thought maybe you resented me most for never letting the option to tell your dad be allowed. I wanted _you,_ and no, Stiles. I didn’t get what I wanted.” 

Stiles stares at him. “I never resented you for anything but letting me go,” Stiles says finally. “I wanted you to ask me to stay, and you didn’t. A messy plea in the middle of sex isn’t what I wanted. I wanted something cheesy, like you stopping me as I packed my clothes, and telling me why you didn’t want me to leave. I wanted you to meet me at the airport to tell me you loved me. I wanted you to – Christ, Derek. I wanted you to ask me to _stay._ To mean it when you asked.” 

Stiles scrubs at his face, and blinks against the water suddenly filling his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispers.

“Yeah,” Stiles laughs. “Aren’t we all?” 

Derek reaches out and brushes a finger along Stiles’ cheek, before cupping his face with both hands. Stiles looks up at him, sniffling like a teenaged girl and trying not to cry or kiss him. He’s spent so long being so angry at Derek that he doesn’t know how else to feel anymore. The feeling of wanting to kiss him has always been there, just under the surface, always stronger when Derek is near, but it’s overwhelming now. And Stiles still has too much anger to give into it. 

“Let me go, Derek,” Stiles says, and it sounds like a plea for something more than Derek just letting go of his face. It sounds like Stiles is asking him to stay, or to stop coming around, or _something_ , but Stiles doesn’t even know for sure. 

Derek releases him. He walks out, and Stiles stares at the solid wooden door like if he stares long enough Derek will come back, or maybe he could figure out the answers to his life. Then he goes upstairs and cries and it’s okay because it’s not necessarily a bad cry, or a teenage girly cry. It’s just a release of a bunch of pent up emotions that Stiles is confused about. 

==

Christmas sneaks up on them. It isn’t that Stiles didn’t know it was coming, but he was enjoying the time he spent with his dad, making breakfast for him and bonding over football games and movies they both love. In between spending time with his dad and shopping for Christmas, Stiles spends time with his friends, too. He goes shopping for Lydia with Isaac, shopping for Allison with Scott, and shopping with the girls for Isaac and Scott. He thinks long and hard about buying a present for Derek even though he doesn’t even have a definition for what they are at the moment. 

The answer is given to him when he stumbles across a grey cashmere sweater that looks perfect for Derek. Stiles wanders into the store and buys it for him without thinking about it, and walks back out with it already wrapped. It’s not personal, really, and it’s not exactly impersonal. Stiles guesses that it shows he was thinking about Derek while shopping, but not in a way that’s too serious. 

He hasn’t seen Derek since the night of Christmas Tree Decorating, but the pack is all going out to dinner and exchanging presents, and they’ve invited Lydia and Stiles along. Stiles didn’t really have a choice to say no, with Erica’s hopeful eyes pleading him to come along. 

When he’s wrapping Derek’s present, he can’t help but think about how the last five years of his life have gone, and how he wants something different. He wants _Derek._ He gets a scrap of paper and a pen and scribbles something out, before he finishes wrapping Derek’s sweater. 

He gathers all his presents up and sticks them in the small backseat of his rental car, before heading to the restaurant they’re all meeting at. It’s one of Beacon Hills’ only nice restaurants, and Stiles thinks he looks decent enough in a light purple button down and black dress pants. It’s only proven when Lydia nods approvingly at him when he steps out of the car. 

Dinner goes well, Stiles and Derek sitting at opposite ends of the table. They all talk and laugh, and Lydia even manages to get through it without saying absolutely rude things about Jackson’s choice to spend Christmas with his parents in Aspen just to avoid her. Danny is there, and Stiles notices how he was strategically placed at the other end of the table, nearer to Derek. He also notices Derek’s glare when Stiles grins at this. 

They exchange presents at the Hale house, and from everyone’s happy smiles, Stiles supposes he did well with the Christmas shopping this year. He’s always bought something for Scott, even when they weren’t talking, and mailed it to him. It’s been a while since he’s shopped for anyone else other than Lydia and his Dad, though, and he’s glad he did well. 

He doesn’t give Derek his present until everyone’s left, and he’s getting ready to go, too. He pulls the box out from under his coat. “I – wasn’t sure,” Stiles shrugs. “I didn’t expect you to get me anything, and I didn’t want to give this to you in front of everyone else, and have them rag on you for not getting me something, or whatever.” He shoves it at Derek.

Derek looks surprised. “Thanks,” he says, and his voice sounds gravelly. 

He starts to open it and Stiles shakes his head. “Just open it later,” he says. “Maybe on Christmas morning, or something. Keep the magic alive or whatever.” 

Derek blinks at him. “Okay,” he says finally.

“Okay,” Stiles nods. “See you later then.” 

He’s got his hand on the doorknob when he hesitates and turns back around. “Merry Christmas, Derek,” he says softly, and then he walks out, hurrying to his car. 

==

Christmas Day goes well. Stiles and his dad exchange their presents in the morning after breakfast, and they split the day between Lydia and Mrs. Martin, and then head over to Mrs. McCall’s house. She greets Stiles with a big hug and a slap across the head, saying that if he ever goes so long without keeping in contact with her again, she’ll make him regret it, and Stiles grins and promises more phone calls and emails. 

They all talk and laugh and Mrs. McCall and the Sheriff tease Stiles and Scott about being such troublemakers when they were younger, while Allison laughs delightedly at learning more about their childhood. At the end of the evening Mrs. McCall sends them away with leftovers and another huge hug. 

“Going back to Boston before New Year’s?” Stiles’ Dad asks when they’re sitting in their living room, watching the Christmas lights on the tree twinkle. 

Stiles shrugs. “Maybe,” he says. “The new semester starts on the fifth. It’s a good idea to get back and get everything unpacked and stuff before then.” 

“Yeah,” the Sheriff nods like he understands, and they sit there in silence for a while. 

“Is it weird that I… I might actually – prefer staying here?” Stiles asks uneasily. The Sheriff’s head snaps up. His lips quirk up in a small smile. 

“No,” he says softly. “No, that’s not weird at all.”

Stiles thinks the night will end there. He hugs his dad goodnight and wishes him Merry Christmas one last time before heading upstairs. He changes into his sweats and turns the hardly-ever used TV in his room on, watching It’s a Wonderful Life for the last time this Christmas season. He’s sniffling at Mary being offered the moon when his window slides up. 

Stiles jumps and falls off his bed diving for tissues. 

He reappears blowing his nose and staring wide eyed at Derek. “What the hell?” he asks, voice muffled. 

“This,” Derek holds a paper up in front of Stiles’ face. 

Stiles says, “Uh.” 

“Did you – what the hell, Stiles?” 

“I – ” 

“ – you can’t just write things like this and not expect me to show up in your window at some point today.” 

“I didn’t really know if you’d even open the present,” Stiles shifts uneasily. Derek’s eyes flash. 

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s from you.” 

“Well we haven’t exactly seen eye to eye for a while now.” 

“Did you – Stiles,” Derek rumbles, stepping closer. “Did you mean it?” 

Stiles glances down at the note, and then back up at Derek. “I wouldn’t have written it, if I didn’t mean it,” he says softly. Derek stares down at the note, at Stiles’ handwriting, at the _I still love you. I forgive you. Please forgive me,_ and the paper is wrinkled, like Derek has spent the whole day with it crushed between his hands. “Please,” Stiles says, and he realizes this is what he was asking Derek last time they were together, he was asking him to forgive him, he was asking him to stay, he wanted him _then,_ he wants him _now_ , and he’s always going to want him, and he hopes Derek feels the same. 

Derek says, “I loved the sweater,” and Stiles huffs out a laugh. “And I still love you, too. I always have.” 

And thank _God_ they’re on the same page, the same note, because Stiles would have ripped apart at the seams if Derek had said no, if he’d left through the window before _this_ , before they’re kissing and clinging to each other. It’s the kind of passionate kiss Stiles hasn’t had since he and Derek _last_ kissed, and God, he’s missed it so fucking much. Derek is all heat, but he’s gentleness, too, and hands roaming until they find the skin of Stiles’ hips, fingers pressing into them, gripping them purple-bruise-tight until Stiles breaks away and starts tugging at Derek’s shirt. 

Derek lets him. He lets him have it _all,_ his kisses and his touches, his hands and his fingers, until Stiles is underneath him keening softly as Derek enters him, getting inside him, gets underneath his skin, burrows himself under skin and sinewy muscle and thick blood and porcelain bones. Stiles has always been so delicate – so breakable – but he’s trusting Derek with him, now and forever. “Derek,” he chokes, arching, back bending, neck straining. And Derek kisses his shoulder blade and nuzzles his nose into the spot between both shoulders. Stiles grips the bed sheets tight enough they stretch at the corners and feels a few tears leak out at the mix of pleasure and all the emotion swimming through him. 

“Stiles,” Derek chokes, and that’s when Stiles knows. 

He’s not just letting Derek get inside him, Stiles is burrowing inside _Derek_ too – he was already there, even. The bright, sharp realization of it blindsides Stiles into coming, and he gasps, bites down on his bottom lip and thrusts back against Derek until Derek’s coming, too, still gripping those same spots on Stiles’ hips, even after he’s slowed down, and then pulled out. 

They lay there in silence for a while, Stiles giving little pecks of his lips against Derek’s chest, neck, and jaw, and Derek running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “Stay,” Stiles whispers against his chin, before kissing his lips sloppily. 

Derek smiles lazily. “Your dad is going to know,” he slurs. 

“He’s going to be so amused,” Stiles agrees dopily, and the fingers in his hair tighten for a moment before they go slack again, and Derek nods. 

Stiles’ dad laughs for five minutes when Derek comes downstairs in a pair of Stiles’ loosest sweats – they’re the same height, but Derek’s legs are like tree trunks – and an old shirt. Stiles grins and enjoys the look of embarrassment on Derek’s face while Stiles makes them all breakfast. He does only give his dad three pieces of bacon, though, and the resulting grumble brings an almost pleased smile to Derek’s face. 

Derek’s getting ready to leave – to go home and get ready for their date that night – when he freezes, and turns back around to face Stiles. He’s standing in the walkway, snowflakes catching on his eyelashes, looking just as beautiful as ever, when he gives Stiles a blinding grin. Stiles is almost swept away by it. “I have something for you, too,” he says jogging up to Stiles, digging around in his pockets.

He hands Stiles a small box with a crushed bow sticking on top. “Don’t open it ‘til I’m gone,” Derek says, leans in and pecks him on the lips, and then runs back to his car. Stiles watches him go, waves, and when he’s down the street, he opens the box.

There’s a simple Christmas tree ornament in the shape of a wolf lying on tissue paper, and a note sticking out underneath. Stiles takes out the note and unfolds it.

 _Stay,_ it reads. Stiles smiles, tucks the note in his pocket, and goes to stick the wolf on the Christmas tree.

He has plane tickets to cancel. 

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like, you can find me on tumblr @ dylanobilinski. 
> 
> If you thought Peanut Butter Blossoms sound delicious (which they are. So good) and you want to give them a try for the Holiday Season, I'm happily linking you to the recipe [here](https://www.hersheys.com/recipes/recipe-details.aspx?id=5191). I guess you could use something other than Hershey Kisses but I'm a Pennsylvania girl and we're loud and proud about Hershey chocolate.


End file.
